Haunting rights
by Soph-Harlisan
Summary: The conversation might not have been meaningful. In fact the memory of it had all been forgotten until this moment. But now it was all the hope he had.


The first memory he had of pain was when he was five, or maybe six. The age part was a little hazy to him to be honest. What he did remember however was the scrape on his knee causing him to howl and for tears to dampen his cheeks.

He had fallen over, as children are wont to do, and the hard gravel had rushed up to meet his unprotected knee.

Of course his mother had rushed over, held him tight and kissed him on the forehead and then proceeded to wash and dress the cut. And that was that. Arthur had stopped crying, the pain already leaving him except for a slight twinge as he had rushed over to continue playing in the playground, admittedly a little more careful than he was being beforehand.

After that he had acquired more scrapes and bruises than he could count. He was an active boy and he liked running around, climbing trees, pretending to be a dashing knight on valiant and dangerous quests, usually involving dragons and other mythical beasts. Cuts and bruises came a dime a dozen, but now he would just ignore the slight pinch or sting of pain, wipe the blood away and continue on.

The next incident of pain that his mother couldn't make better or he couldn't just wipe away, happened when he was 12. It was a stupid accident really. Riding his bike, down a dirt trail in the nearby woods, he had done it a million times. Except a tree branch had broken off sometime in-between his last visit and then. It laid neatly in the middle of the path, and of course the front wheel of his bike struck it before he had chance to even begin thinking about putting on the brakes.

Arthur had flown through the air, continuing on as his bike came to a sudden stop, and landed on his side. He had heard a crunch and a sharp stab of pain jolted through him. He remembered lying there for a minute, gasping and watching the still spinning wheel of his bike a few metres away. It was a long while before he could move, and when he did, his arm dangled loosely by his side, making him feel sick just looking at it.

Getting himself and his bike home after that had been torturous, each step vibrating through his body and jolting his arm. Father had shook his head, when he knocked on the door of the family estate, but had called the family doctor who promptly numbed any pain, set his arm and put it in a cast which he had to wear for six weeks.

That had been the last of any physical pain he had experienced in his life and as for emotional pain, he realised his life was rather blessed in that regards.

His mother had died when he was young, too young. He hadn't really understood what was happening, why his father cried so much and never smiled any more. The blonde woman who had held him tight and read him his favourite bedtime stories, was simply gone one day, to be replaced with a month later, another woman. She hadn't smelt right, the sweet sickly scent of some fruity perfume making him sneeze and although she read him stories at night, she never did the funny voices that his mother did. But she had been nice enough, sneaking him treats when father had shouted at him and helping him with his schoolwork when he got old enough. So Arthur moved on, and by the time he was of age to realise his mother was not simple gone but dead, any pain he might have felt had been numbed, like the pain in his arm after the doctor gave him an injection.

All he felt was a strange pang of loneliness when his eyes couldn't help but linger on a mother with kids, when his school mates talked about their mother's cooking or what family outing they had had during the weekend.

But the pain was manageable, barely there really. Maybe that was why it was so hard now. He just didn't know how to deal with this level of pain. Not when there wasn't any kind of injection to make it better, nor any mother to make it all go away.

It was crippling. He felt like he couldn't breathe because the hard aching lump in his throat wouldn't disappear. He wanted to tear his hair out, to rip his skin from his bones, anything to take his focus away from the sharp twisting pain located inside of him.

The poets and writers were right about heartbreak. It was a real physical thing, although no words could do it justice. There was just too much pain, snapping and tugging and squeezing his heart all at the same time, until there was nothing left of his heart except an empty cavity.

It was too much. So Arthur just stood there, letting the rain wash over him, looking down at the grey headstone that bore Merlin's name.

 _Merlin Emerys_

 _1991 – 2016_

 _A loving son and a dear friend._

And that was it. All there was to sum up a person's life. No word on what a prat he was to begin with, although Merlin would call Arthur the prat. There was nothing on his loyalty, how after they had become friends nothing had pried the boy away from his freindship. How he had stuck with Arthur through thick and thin, even when Arthur had told him to piss off, Merlin had just let him cool off and came back the next day, accepted Arthur's apology and moved on as though nothing had happened.

There was nothing on how he had put a hundred and ten percent into everything he did, graduating top of his class at Oxford University and going the extra mile so he could stand beside Arthur when Arthur had to take his place as head of his father's company. Not that he had needed to, Arthur would have hired him over any other stupid candidate any day. There was no one else he wanted by his side. But Merlin did it anyway, so he could help Arthur as much as possible.

But now he was gone and it was just so unlike Merlin that Arthur stood and waited. Waited for a miracle.

"Mate, it's pouring, we should be heading back," Gwaine said. The man stood beside him, as he had through the whole funeral.

Arthur shook his head. "No, you go."

When he felt Gwaine linger, Arthur finally switched his gaze from the freshly dug earth. "Go," he tried a smile, but knew it didn't reach his eyes. "Go," he insisted, "I'll see you tomorrow at work... I promise," he added when Gwaine still did not move.

"Alright." A hand landed on Arthur's shoulder, and squeezed lightly. "But don't stay out all night."

With that, Gwaine turned to leave. Arthur watched his progress amongst the tombstones until the man was out of sight, only then did he turn back to Merlin's grave and dug into his pocket bringing out his phone. Splashes of rain landed on the screen, but at the moment Arthur couldn't bring himself to care; he could always buy another one.

"Okay Merlin," he spoke, his throat catching slightly on the name. "Time for a miracle."

He pressed his thumb down on the screen. Immediately a tinny tune filled the air and unbidden a smile spread over his lips.

" _What the hell have you sent me?!"_

 _The shout was accompanied by the sharp slam of the front door closing. Arthur broke into laughter._

" _Do you like it?!" he shouted back._

 _There was no answer, just a few heavy thuds as Merlin dropped his bag and jacket onto the kitchen table. Then footsteps, and Arthur tried to control his laughter as Merlin made his way down the hallway. All control was lost however as Merlin's face appeared around the door. Black hair was tussled and not in an artfully way, more in a windswept, dragged through a hedge backwards kind of way. He was breathing heavily, his cheeks splotched with red and his eyes glared at Arthur._

" _All day!" he shouted while stomping into the room. "All day!" He stood at the head of Arthur's bed, eyes throwing daggers. And all it made Arthur do was laugh harder._

" _It's been stuck in my head all day Arthur!" Merlin threw up his hands in exasperation. "I have to study for a big test that's this Friday, and all I have going around in my head is some squelchy Donald duck song!"_

 _Arthur's whole sides ache with laughter now. He rolls over, slamming his fists down onto the pillows because he can't breathe and his laughter has turned into a silent fit of mirth. He can't, he just can't. When he had sent Merlin the song, he had expected some sort of_ huh, that's cool, _reply._

 _But this, this was just gold._

" _I hope you know you've ruined my life," Merlin continued as he slumped down on Arthur's bed with a dramatic sigh. Arthur gasped for breath just as he thought he would die from lack of oxygen._

" _So you didn't like it?" he asked before the laughter could take over his body once again._

 _Merlin sent him a withering look. "No Arthur, it sounds like wet duck feet slapping against a pavement. It sounds like Donald duck arguing with his more high pitched and even more annoying older brother. This song will haunt me for the rest of my days. It will follow me down the street, until I'm paranoid that an army of wet ducks are parading after me!"_

 _As Merlin ranted, Arthur's laughter broke free of him again._

" _Oh shut it you," Merlin said this time. The mattress springing up, told Arthur Merlin had gotten up from his bed again._

" _You're going to play this at my funeral aren't you?" Merlin said with a huff. "Well just so you know, you dare, and I'll come back and haunt your ass. Now come through and make something for dinner. We can't all lounge around all day, looking for the most annoying songs in existence, you might as well do something useful."_

 _Arthur swallowed the last of his laughter and got up to follow Merlin through to the kitchen. He couldn't resist putting the song on one last time however, and was promptly chased around the house with a pillow until he turned it off._

Tears fell down Arthur's cheeks. They stung as they left his eyes and caused the skin that they touched to feel dry and cracked.

"You promised," Arthur choked out as the last few notes of the song trickled to a close. "Come on, you promised!" Rage now boiled in his veins, and he crushed the phone in his grip just as the song ended and looped back to the beginning.

"I told you didn't I," a voice spoke up from behind him. "I told you, if you dared to play that song at my funeral, I would haunt your ass."

Arthur whipped around. "Merlin," a broken whisper left him as an empty cemetery greeted his sight.

"Who else," the voice said again. "Now will you please turn that damn song off."

A choked noise that was half sob, half a bark of laughter broke out of him. "Why can I not see you?" he asked.

"Working on it," came Merlin's reply. "Being a ghost isn't easy you know."

A full smile spread across Arthur's face. He pushed the pause button on his phone and refitted it into his pocket. He should have known. Merlin wasn't ordinary. He should have known, not even death could keep him down.

"Oh thank God," Merlin said and this time Arthur was sure he could see a faint outline of a slim man standing a few feet away. The shape moved closer. "Although playing that song, I hope you know, has given me full haunting rights for the rest of eternity," he said.

Arthur chuckled. "Fine by me."

* * *

 **A/N - This was inspired by a conversation between me and a friend. She sent me this song, and needless to say, I was less enamored with it than her. If anyone is curious the song is the dog song from Undertale ost.**

 **Written late at night and un-beta'd so sorry for all mistakes.**

 **Soph-H**


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